The Family Cross Page 13

  Then, channeling all the bravery I’d been forced to cultivate the past week, I drove my car through Manhattan and eventually twenty minutes outside New York City. I had never driven so far by myself, and I would’ve been happier about it if I weren’t caked in dead fae.

  The motel hadn’t seen a renovation in decades. The outside, covered in peeling lavender paint and teal doors, didn’t leave me hopeful for stellar accommodations. The sign read AIR CONDITIONING AND COLOR TV.

  Had I moonwalked back into the sixties?

  As I stepped out of the Mercedes into a mixture of wet gravel and mud, the only thing that gave me a sense of comfort was that no one in my life would be caught dead here, which meant I could solely focus on taking care of Samson and getting rid of the fae blood. Sometimes being surrounded by predictable stuck ups was a blessing. The realization that I was one of those predictable stuck ups didn’t help settle my stomach when Cliff got out of Gemma’s car.

  “Sit tight. I’m going to get you a room since you’re—” Cliff motioned to the blood all over me. “But you owe me.”

  “I’ll pay you.” I owed him a lot more than the cost of the room. “For everything.”

  Cliff batted his hand around and left me to get a room.

  The crickets sang in the night, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Samson still lay in a motionless heap in the back seat of Gemma’s car, unaware that we were about to dump him in a motel thirty minutes from our original location. Cliff came back as a raindrop hit my cheek.

  “Here.” He handed me a key with a white Ping-Pong ball hanging off a key chain. The number four was written on it in black marker. Definitely not the Ritz. “I’ll keep my phone on me, but I won’t be available tomorrow night. Full moon.”

  Right. Werewolf.

  I glanced at where Samson lay unmoving in the car. “Anything I should know about him?”

  “Nothing I can say.” Cliff sighed. “Known him for a long time. He’s only done this twice before that I know of. He normally keeps his shit under wraps. Knows when to push just enough to get what he needs. But desperate times and all that. He came around eventually.”

  So that was how he got into the file room at work. And a table at The Dove.

  “I really don’t know what to say.” I smiled, and I hoped he knew it was sincere. “You had no reason to help me, but I’m so thankful you did.”

  Cliff looked at Samson and then back at me as more thunder rolled overhead. “He must trust you if he was willing to leave himself like that with you, and that means a lot from a man who can see everyone’s secrets.”

  It never occurred to me that Samson might trust me. Coming from a world where trust extended only as far as you could see a person, it was almost laughable. Samson? Trust me? I had no powers, and I had no practical skills beyond making breakfast or balancing a checkbook. Why on earth would the man trust me with his defenseless body?

  “You’re all right.” Cliff must have noticed my confusion. He laughed, and he pulled Samson out of the car, tossing his limp body on his shoulder like it was nothing. “Let’s get you inside.”

  Nineteen

  With Cliff gone, it was all up to me. I closed the door, turned the deadbolt, and said a silent prayer to whoever would listen. If Samson didn’t wake up, I would be killed. Plain and simple. Samson would also be dead, and it was strange to realize that outcome was just as unacceptable as my own death.

  Take care of Samson. That was all that mattered right now.

  Cliff had left Samson on the queen-size bed squished between two nightstands and a mismatched set of lamps. A small television sat on a desk, and a bathroom was nestled in the back, featuring one of those wall-mounted hair dryers and a blue sink.

  Whatever. We wouldn’t be here long.

  The pungent odor of dead fae slithered into my nostrils, and I gagged. Before I could do anything else, I had to take care of the tar-like blood coating the front of my dress and drying to my eyelashes. It had even gotten on my shoes. My shoes. Louboutins didn’t deserve such a fate.

  Biting back a groan, I focused on the more stinky problem: fae blood and removing it. I didn’t have any spare clothes, but my eye caught Samson’s backpack on one of the nightstands—it might have something. I didn’t want to dig around in his murder backpack, but I didn’t have much of a choice either. I wasn’t going to sleep in dead…fae.

  Since the bigger compartment in the back would be where his bulky clothes were, I ignored the front pocket all together and unzipped the back one. No need to snoop.

  Bullets were everywhere. Some were in boxes, some were loose. Did this man not have a single organized bone in his body? I pushed aside all the ammunition and grabbed at the fabric sitting in the bottom bunched up into a ball. In addition to not being able to organize, Samson apparently couldn’t fold either.

  A shirt. That’s it.

  The warmth in my cheeks didn’t stop me from taking the shirt and zipping up the bag. He would be unconscious. I’d wash my dress in the sink and let it dry overnight, so I could wear it home and trash it after. The shirt would only last until morning and would be off before he woke up. Samson never had to see me in it. After pressing a hand to his chest to verify he was still breathing, I made my way to the bathroom.

  The bathroom, unsurprisingly, was stuck in the same era as the motel exterior. Blue toilet. Blue shower. Blue-checkered tile beneath my feet. Towels folded in neat squares sat on a metal rack above the toilet. While not as fluffy and inviting as mine, they could scrub blood off a face.

  I spun the shower handle. Excellent water pressure. Finally—things were looking up.

  As it turned out, fae blood came off about as easy as human blood did. The tiny punctures on my neck from the fae’s teeth weren’t too deep, although they’d probably bruise. The blood in my nail beds didn’t wash completely out either, but short of cutting my fingertips off, there wasn’t much I could do about it. After two shampoos and a dip in conditioner, my hair was fae-free and wrapped in a towel. Clean.

  Now the dress.

  I scrunched my nose and turned my dress underneath the faucet, watching the water run obsidian with every wring of the fabric. Since the motel amenities didn’t include detergent, I settled for dumping shampoo all over it and letting the dress soak in the sink.

  A crack of lightning shook the walls as I rolled up the sleeves of Samson’s shirt and grabbed two washcloths from over the toilet. He was still unconscious, and consequently didn’t care, but the thought of letting him sleep with blood all over his face and neck made me squirm. Gross.

  His shirt was pretty comfortable though. His long arms and torso made it more like a gown, thankfully. If he did manage to wake up before I changed, at least my butt would be covered up. The thought of him seeing me in his clothes made my cheeks hot, the coverage of my butt notwithstanding, and I forced myself to banish the thought from my mind before touching him. Unconscious or not, I simply didn’t know enough about his powers to know if they still worked when he was…like this.

  It rained hard enough to be heard through the thin walls of the windowless bathroom, and once I walked out into the room with the window, chills rolled up my arms. A loud storm in a creepy motel after fighting with a fairy. Sounded like the perfect horror movie.

  As the wind howled around us, I got to work.

  I pulled his guns from their holsters and put them on the bedside table. Definitely needed to put one of those on my nightstand. If anyone, or anything, got inside, I was the only thing that stood in their way. A crack of lightning flashed through the thin curtains over the window.

  Samson’s bulky jacket was a pain to get off, but once I got comfortable with jerking him around a little bit, it came off easier. I set it on the back of the chair sitting in front of the desk, and after I unclipped his holster, I slung it there too.

  Comfortable. Now—the blood.

  As I scrubbed the blood from his upper lip, my mind started to race. He’d been able to control that evil fae w
ithout touching it. He’d made it kill itself. That ability was a little beyond the scope implied by simply telepath, and after Cliff’s comment in the kitchen, my mind was jumping to all sorts of conclusions as I tried to figure it out.

  His human body can’t handle it.

  That monster said he’d smelled Samson. Ash. Blood. But…also human.

  So what could he be then? A vampire? No…he walked around in the sun. Was that myth even true? I pulled back his upper lip just in case. He still had normal teeth, thank God.

  Some weird fairy-human hybrid?

  I scrubbed his chin. Ash implied fire. Fire implied—

  Hell.

  A chill rolled up my spine. No. He couldn’t be from Hell. He’d told me the night he killed Farrell that he’d gotten an exorcism for his birthday one year. But did that even mean anything? Did any of these rules I’d always heard in scary movies actually mean a damn thing?

  “What are you doing, Tilly?” I muttered as I grabbed the second washrag to wipe down his neck. There wasn’t much blood, and it came off quick. “You’re an ignorant rich girl. You don’t know anything about any of this, so stop pretending you do.”

  Samson was none the wiser about anything I had done. I brushed his hair over to the left side of his scalp to knock off some dust, both horrified and unsurprised at tiny scars scattered along his head. Brief, erratic bits of bald skin, thin enough to be hidden, but definitely there if you were close. Just like the scar on his neck.

  While I lived a privileged life, I couldn’t fathom what could drive someone to live the life Samson did. He was a hit man. He didn’t have a home. A steady job. A last name. By no fault of his own, he didn’t even have a normal brain.

  I bit my lip. He might not have a normal anything.

  I slipped off his side of the bed and put one of his pistols on my nightstand. I left the lamp on, and despite the motel’s claim at air conditioning, the sweat leaking into my eyes said otherwise. Sleeping on top of the comforter was the only choice.

  After checking his pulse and breathing one last time, I put my head on the pillow and tried to sleep.

  “Sweet Christ.”

  I shot up, hair damp. Voice. A voice.

  Someone was in the room. I swung my arm over to the nightstand, vision blurry from sleep. Why had I fallen asleep? So stupid. So irresponsible and stupid.

  Gun. I needed the gun.

  “Fancy Pants.” I blinked and stopped short of wrapping my fingers around the gun as my sleep-addled brain pieced together exactly what I heard. “Chill.”

  My eyes, still blurry from bone-crushing exhaustion, took a good a few blinks to clear up.

  Samson was awake, and it was sunny outside.

  He still lay where Cliff had left him, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. Samson groaned, unaware of the smile blossoming on my face. I tucked my legs underneath me and leaned forward to get a better look at him. Breathing. Alive.

  “You’re not dead.” The words came out in a rasp, like I hadn’t had a drop to drink for fifty years. Come to think of it, I hadn’t had anything to drink since the wine at The Dove. No wonder. I cleared my throat. “I can’t believe it. You’re awake.”

  “Please stop talking.” Samson let out a groan as he sat up, still pushing on his eyes. I moved to help him. “Don’t touch me.”

  I jerked my hands back. Fine.

  “Your thoughts would be too overwhelming right now,” he amended before a growl shook against the back of his throat, and he took long, deep breaths. “Do you have any meds?”

  I shook my head even though he couldn’t see it. “No. I can go get some—”

  “No.” For some reason, his tone made my chest hurt. “Can’t have you getting eaten by fae.”

  We sat in silence for a while. The storm had gone from the night before in exchange for a sun shining so bright, it left no evidence of torrential rain and rippling thunder. The curtains were thin…too thin. Maybe I should hang up a blanket or something instead? Block out some of the sun since he had a headache?

  “That fae”—Samson fell backward and landed on his pillow—“changes things.”

  “How so?” I asked and rearranged the hem of my shirt—his shirt—to cover up my legs.

  “It means Frank is desperate to complete your contract.” He finally pulled his hands off his eyes to massage his scalp. He didn’t open them though. “Super Douche and the cop had been half-fae. They had abilities but were bound to their human body. The thing yesterday was a full-blooded Unseelie Fae, and those assholes don’t do things for money, and they don’t make deals unless there’s a loophole.”

  My heart dropped, and the urge to cry multiplied. Not that Samson could tell. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

  Samson growled again. “The fae that tried to eat you was perfect for the job: it could shape-shift and would’ve eaten every last part of you down to your toenails. Frank would’ve had to come up with a good bargain to hire him.”

  My mouth twisted into a grimace. “Why would Frank be so desperate?”

  “At the moment, I can only think of two reasons.” Samson continued to rub his scalp. “Your contract could’ve been bought by one of his investors. Losing any of them would severely cripple his empire.”

  The silence that followed didn’t bode well for me.

  “Or he knows I’m with you and is trying to kill me too.” Samson paused a second, fingers stilling on his head. “Or it could be both of those things, I guess.”

  So many questions. Just when I thought I was getting a grip on anything to do with his monster-filled life, I’d slip into more unknowns and deeper into terror. What had I done to deserve this? Was ending my life really that important?

  “We need to go see Vee,” Samson said as he pushed on his temples.

  Seeing more of these dangerous people wouldn’t be good for my nerves. “Like right now?”

  “Sooner the better.”

  “You haven’t even opened your eyes yet. I don’t think you’re in the condition to put yourself in the path of more assassins!” My heart beat faster. “Besides, I think I’m due for an explanation. I was really worried you weren’t going to wake up. If I hadn’t called Cliff, I wouldn’t have known what to do with you…or that this wasn’t the first time.”

  “I’m fine.” Samson pressed on his eyes again as he sat up.

  Right. He’s just fine.

  “What’d Cliff say?”

  “Nothing really.” His body stilled at my words. “He said…your human body couldn’t handle whatever it was you did to that fae.”

  The room was like the dead: silent.

  I ran my thumbnail along my cuticles, scratching out dried fae blood as I waited on him to say something. Anything.

  “There are three people alive that know what that means, and I intend to keep it that way.” Samson swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “I know you’re probably used to people falling over themselves to give you what you want, but I don’t owe you that.”

  His eyes, almost completely red with ruptured vessels, met mine. I couldn’t hold his gaze.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and pushed all the disbelief, hurt, and rage down into a little imaginary box I built in my head. Bury it and deal with it later. I’d done it my whole life. Samson didn’t owe me anything beyond keeping me alive. I wasn’t his friend, and in any other situation, we wouldn’t have crossed paths.

  He was right. I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t have cared.

  “Come on.” Samson’s tone softened a little. He’d already slung his holsters and jacket back on. “Let’s go see Vee.”

  Twenty

  It was a workday, so before we left the motel, I made a quick call to Eliza’s desk. The phone was almost as ancient as Samson’s flip phone: a plastic brick with a curly cord. Eliza didn’t ask questions, but I heard them in her voice. She’d undoubtedly caught wind about the proposal last night. Gossip in our world made quick time.

  Regardless
of the questions I knew she had, Eliza kept them to herself and promised to distract anyone who came looking for me with a rumor about a one-night stand. While a joke like that would’ve normally sent me into a tailspin, I left it alone. I had almost been eaten by a fairy, and as a result, I didn’t care what anyone at work thought right then.

  We needed to find Vee.

  I’d put on my haphazardly washed dress and tucked Samson’s shirt back in his backpack. He never mentioned it, but even if he had, I was beyond caring about anything he might’ve thought. As it stood, I should’ve just left him to tough it out in the kitchen next to the fae puddle. He certainly didn’t appreciate anything I’d done to help him.

  The desire to speak to Samson didn’t return until we made it back to Manhattan. It was easily the most awkward car ride I’d ever been a party to.

  “So tell me about Vee.”

  Samson’s eyebrows twitched. “What do you wanna know?”

  “Um, anything that might help me survive the encounter, maybe?” The sarcastic inflection wasn’t lost on me, and guilt followed soon after. Doormat. “I know nothing about her, and if she’s dangerous—”

  “Oh, she’s dangerous. Make no mistake.” Samson turned left, heading toward the Ashby Building. Was Vee that close to my normal life?

  “How can I possibly mistake her lethality when I know next to nothing about her?” I asked, teetering on the fine line between irritation and anger. Get a grip, Tilly! “I know you aren’t keen on telling me much about your life, and that’s fine. I don’t need to know everything. I would just like to know why she’s dangerous.”

  An awkward silence permeated the car, and I almost wanted to hurl myself out of the Mercedes to escape. Eating asphalt and getting struck by a semi had to be better than…whatever was happening here.

  I bit my lip. I shouldn’t have snapped at him. Guilt snaked its way around my heart when Samson looked over at me again. Matilda Ashby: business heiress and the world’s flattest doormat. “Please.”